


you look so good to me (you look so far away)

by smallcuts



Series: two sides of the same coin [2]
Category: American Housewife (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Divergence, M/M, Practice Kissing, Season/Series 03, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallcuts/pseuds/smallcuts
Summary: It’s at that nanosecond that Cooper has one of those ‘lightbulb moments’ Oliver’s spoken about previously (usually partnered with that evil but oddly adorable grin of his). He puts the puzzle pieces together—it’s not something he would have noticed had he not found himself increasingly attuned to Oliver’s existence as of lately—slowly; Oliver’s not being quiet and weird because he thought Cooper was crossing some sort of boundary in their practice.He’s being weird because he... likes it?
Relationships: Cooper Bradford/Oliver Otto
Series: two sides of the same coin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028349
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	you look so good to me (you look so far away)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any inaccuracies, i only just got to season 4 lol
> 
> this is a companion work to the previous one in this series but it's not necessary to read, this work can easily be a standalone!! only real difference is that this fic is in cooper's pov instead of oliver's. hope you enjoy!<3

There’s a conversation Cooper had with his dad numerous years ago that pops up in his memory every so often, sepia-toned and worn at the edges because he couldn’t have been older than seven when his father sat him down. It’s one of three times he’s ever found himself alone in a room with him. His dad had been clothed in a clean-cut grey (or was it black) suit, all sharp features and the jaded grit of a businessman who hadn’t relished in a moment alone for eons.

_“I wasn’t aware you were home, Cooper.”_

_He glances up from his assortment of Lego bricks and forgotten homework assignments at the sudden intrusion, elation coursing through him at the sight of his father. He bounds over instantly to him, kicking his half-finished model of a Lego helicopter aside. “Dad!”_

_“Son,” greets Mr. Bradford, giving him a stiff head pat. Cooper gets to hug him for four seconds, two seconds longer than last time, soaking in the fresh-from-the-dry-cleaner scent mingled with his dad’s favorite pine-scented cologne._

Cooper wears that same brand of cologne to this day.

_“You were doing homework, I presume?” Mr. Bradford scoffs, gesturing an exasperated hand to his buried homework. Cooper laughs nervously, stepping backward and towards the offending subject matter. The full-body shield technique, unfortunately, backfires when the other party was already aware there existed something to hide._

_“Mhm… I was just taking a break…” He trails off once he sees the disappointed crease in his father’s eyebrows, a tell-tale sign he would have a chat with one of his nannies to look forward to later._

_“You’re prepared for third grade, was it?”_

_“Second, actually.”_

_“Well, regardless of what grade you’re entering, I have some words for you. You see this?” His father pauses to fish an official-looking paper emblazoned with his school’s logo on it, COOPER BRADFORD REPORTS printed in gold lettering on the folder. His mother (or more likely, a staff member) must’ve assembled that collection of documents for him. When Cooper nods in affirmation, Mr. Bradford sighs and presses forward, lowering to a half-squat to look him in the eyes. “Money can buy many things. It can’t buy wisdom though. And judging from these grades, you’re going to need a hell of a lot of it.”_

_“Why would I need wisdom? We have money.”_

_“I have money. You, son, have nothing.”_

_Cooper swallows thickly. Mr. Bradford musses his hair, ruining the perfectly styled quiff a housekeeper had done for him, and exits the living room laconically._

He hadn’t understood what his father meant at the time. He thinks he understands it seven years later, thinks he’s understood it since the minute Oliver Otto entered his life with a casual hand wave and a remark that they were table partners for the remainder of pre-algebra. He almost feels bad for the other two people that were stuck with them last year, forced to continually listen to their banter for four hours every week. To be fair, he attempted to include them in the beginning but some people couldn’t be reasoned with he supposed.

Cooper resumes skimming through the Wikihow article he’d pulled up for research about the formalities of seven minutes in heaven per Oliver’s request. The illustrations accompanying some of the tips are downright awful; He figures whoever’s running the graphic design department over at Wikihow needs a reality check on how fingers are supposed to be drawn. He wants to show Oliver but it seems the other boy is away in his own head, vacantly staring at some spot on the bed. He’s never told Oliver but he hates it when he gets like that—Prolonged silence unnerves him. That, and as Oliver’s gracious best friend who has come over to assist in solving his emotional dilemma, he thinks he’s entitled to some damn attention. If this is how he’s treating Cooper currently, he hates to think about how Gina’s going to be treated. Poor girl, Cooper’s never had to third-wheel with anyone like she’s going to with them later.

Eventually, after Oliver makes no move to speak up, Cooper decides to take matters into his own hands and gives him a bright smile. “Found something here that says not to get too handsy, don’t want to scare the little lady off,” says Cooper breezily, struggling to contain his laughter. That wasn’t in the article but Cooper knows Oliver isn’t going to notice, his mind’s probably still galaxies away from the Otto household. His theory’s confirmed when Oliver sullenly crosses his arms and drops down into his desk chair.

“So what then? I sit in a closet with Gina and kiss her a little for seven minutes? How is that any different than just kissing her outside of a closet?”

 _‘If you’d paid attention to me when I was reading this shit out loud, you’d know it’s just another dumb party game,’_ is what Cooper wants to voice aloud. Being mean gets a person absolutely nowhere though; They could be potential business allies down the road. He won’t say anything because he prides himself on being the world’s greatest best friend but he doubts he wants anything to do with seven minutes in heaven. Gina seems like a good person, he respects her well enough (though she does cut into Cooper-Oliver time occasionally) but he’s not playing seven minutes in heaven with _her_. He’s playing it with some vaguely hot girl named Adriana and if there’s one fundamental rule of Westport, it’s that the social network here revolves around the Bradfords. If he spends seven minutes alone with her, there’s a very real chance she’ll lord that over him—”We made out, aren’t you going to ask me on a date?” he pictures her saying—and Cooper doesn’t think he desires a girlfriend. If he did, he’d have one. Not a lot of people are lining up to date the Cooper part of the Bradford name though, and the last thing he wants is to be ultimately used for more status points. It’s what worries him about Oliver sometimes too.

He realizes he hasn’t said anything for a brief period of time so he punctuates the atmosphere with an ambivalent hum. “It’s not just kissing. And closed spaces I guess? Ugh.” And then an idea lights up before his eyes, idiotic at best and mega-idiotic at worst. Oliver’s clearly nervous about kissing his girlfriend in a closet, which Cooper barely understands but to each their own, _but_ Oliver wouldn’t be so nervous if he could get some practice in. The whole plan is admittedly shoddily thrown together, the end product of a bunch of scattered thoughts he’s had about Oliver wrangled into something presentable. “I was just thinking, and it’s dumb-“

“Yeah, not a good sign when you think-“

“Shut up!” Cooper punches him in the arm and resumes, letting a curious palm wander over a stray pen on Oliver’s desk “We’ve been looking stuff up for like, an hour! News flash amigo, Google is shit.”

“Right, I suppose you’re just _brimming_ with good ideas though,” says Oliver monotonously. That earns him a harder punch to the same spot on his upper arm; If Oliver keeps this up, Cooper’s not above launching a war of the tickling variety. The slander on his name would be well-worth hearing that embarrassing half-snort half-giggle Oliver lets loose when it slips his mind to be cautious in concealing his laughter.

“If you’d let me finish, remember that saying? Practice makes perfect,” Cooper states in what he hopes is a conniving tone. He tells himself his smile adds to it, lures people into a placated sense of security according to his father.

“Sure, I know that quote,” Oliver responds. The subtle judgmental quirk of his eyebrow threatens to throw him off his game but in addition to being the world’s greatest best friend, he is also the most _patient_. He and Oliver have always been on the same page about everything he’s able to recall, two peas in a pod. It’s as if there’s an invisible mental cord that keeps them privy to each other’s general needs, so he’s confident Oliver knows what he’s asking for, or at least will understand. It’s what has kept them so inseparable.

“Glad we’re on the same page bro,” Cooper smirks, grasping Oliver’s thin wrist lightly. He doesn’t miss Oliver’s startled jump nor the way his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in surprise; Oliver will understand. He recites this to himself the entire time he herds them both into Oliver’s cramped closet—he’s aware the Ottos have trouble financially but a walk-in closet strikes him as a basic necessity, he’d have to seek Mrs. Otto out later—and releases his hold once the door is mostly shut. Oliver stays awfully quiet, fixating him with a look he’s never seen Oliver adopt before.

“Don’t freak out,” falls from Cooper’s mouth without his permission, although he’s not sure if he’s addressing Oliver or himself. They’ve made it this far and it’s not as if Oliver has lodged a complaint. He breathes quietly through his nose to stabilize himself and guides a thankfully steady hand to Oliver’s narrow hip, wondering how on earth he’d convinced them both that this was a good idea worth carrying out. It doesn’t matter now, Cooper already initiated _something_ so it’s not like he can back out. From this vantage point, the top of Oliver’s head and the faded wisp of his aftershave serves as a stark reminder that Cooper dragged his _male_ best friend in the entire world into a comically small closet and he… doesn’t know if he has a plan anymore. Doing what he intended to do seems to be the safest path to navigate, or so he rationalizes as he shuts his eyes and rakes a hand up the expanse of Oliver’s back.

It’s eerily dissimilar to his previous experiences with girls. For one, the three girls he’d been alone with were more vocal and not as tense as Oliver is. Exchanging innocent kisses with them had filled him with that same feeling he gets when he’s whisked off to a new foreign country, all fizzy excitement and promises of anything he desired. Oliver is different in a way he can’t place, but he’s getting off topic. The last thing Cooper wants is to make Oliver uncomfortable in any way. Practice admittedly was turning out to be a dumpster fire of an idea, he realizes belatedly as he licks his lip. A small part of him didn’t fancy stopping though, the part of him wanting to gauge Oliver’s reactions, as they’ve all ranged far from displeased.

Cooper dips his head down to fit in the space of Oliver’s collarbone, prepared to bid the awkward situation adieu as he mimics unlatching something on his best friend’s skin, steadfastly ignoring the way Oliver shivers. “Unhooked your bra,” he whispers as he yanks himself away from a stunned Oliver, digging his nails into his palms nervously. Logically, he knows the temperature of the room remained the same the entire time he’s been here but he can’t help but notice the air feels colder. More foreboding. To diffuse the tension, he asks if he’s all right with an uneasy chuckle.

Oliver doesn’t reply, opting to stare some more at nothing in particular. Cooper _might_ have fucked up. He panics, does what he’s been taught to do in tight ordeals, and sets into motion a story about the time he partied with a couple of the Kardashians. Kanye had been a sore force to reckon with—the fish sticks joke missed its target audience, he’d realized belatedly—but the man did have excellent pointers on icing out people in the music business. He’s in the midst of describing the sauce their chef incorporated into their afternoon shrimp cocktails when he notices Oliver still has not moved an inch. Cooper might have _really_ fucked up.

“I’m going to get us some materials,” says Cooper as he high-tails it out of there, too afraid to peek behind him. Now that he’s away, he has to concoct a new game plan. They can’t pretend nothing occurred, right? Scratch that, he’s seen Oliver entrench himself in denial before and it isn’t a pretty sight. Dwelling on things is decidedly _not_ his forte nor what he intends to busy himself with so he seeks a different distraction instead.

“Taylor! Mi hermana!” Cooper bellows as he slams Taylor’s bedroom door open.

“Oliver’s boyfriend,” she drawls with a roll of her eyes. “What’d the brat do now?”

“He didn’t do anything!” Cooper protests. At the skeptical expression he receives, he doubles down in his claim and wanders over to her closet. “Actually, I need to borrow some things from you.”

“No.”

“Great, thanks- excuse me? No?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, thanks!” He cranks Taylor’s closet door open with a self-satisfied grin, wincing as an assortment of bright pink and yellow hues assault his unprepared eyeballs. Taylor scoffs incredulously, hip-bumping him aside as she forcefully slides her door closed again.

“I didn’t mean yeah as in go ahead and raid my stuff! What are you even looking for, go bother Oliver or something!”

Whatever she’s screeching about goes in one ear and out of the other. He makes a mental note to teach Oliver that technique some time—it helps classes go by at least ten times faster than they normally would. “I just need to borrow a couple of bras, okay with you chica?”

Bewilderment crosses Taylor’s features, surprise, then, to Cooper’s amazement, a nod of understanding. “Okay, but you shouldn’t be asking me. My mom has a _much_ better selection,” she says with a salacious grin. “Come on, let’s go pick one out for you~!”

Cooper doesn’t understand what Oliver is perpetually complaining about; Having an older sister seems like it rocks. She didn’t even ask any questions—certainly a different vibe than the one Oliver painted for him.

Taylor tosses three mismatched bras at them, all garishly neon. The black bra has some potential, he observes. Maybe he’d set that one aside for his own use, first come first serve and all that jazz. “Put these back before Mom’s home,” she orders, jabbing a pointer finger into his chest. Cooper waves her off with a one-fingered salute and with a resolute sigh, traverses back to Oliver’s room. To his _absolute_ surprise, the boy has managed to move exactly one square inch from where Cooper last saw him seated. He didn’t even acknowledge Cooper’s presence.

What was it one of his teachers was always bossing him around to do? Take more initiative or something? She likely meant that as advice for his subpar mathematics grades but he elects to apply her wisdom here, in the form of shoving his best friend’s face into the most neon bra he’s ever had the pleasure of borrowing from Mrs. O. He finally earns a disgruntled muttering of expletives as Oliver swipes the offending garment away and seizes the opportunity to tug him to his feet.

“Wanna do me next?” Cooper offers, grimacing internally as that came tumbling out of his mouth. Speaking of listening to his teacher about initiative, he reckons he may need to take that other teacher up on his offer for a lesson on ‘mindful interactions.’

“Huh?” Oliver has that distant look in his eye, the one Cooper thought he made disappear when he’d introduced him to Mrs. O’s bra. It’s at that nanosecond that he has one of those ‘lightbulb moments’ Oliver’s spoken about previously (usually partnered with that evil but oddly adorable grin of his). He puts the puzzle pieces together—it’s not something he would have noticed had he not found himself increasingly attuned to Oliver’s existence as of lately—slowly; Oliver’s not being quiet and weird because he thought Cooper was crossing some sort of boundary in their practice.

Silently, Cooper fastens a bra over his shirt and helps Oliver into his own, noting the almost imperceptible, fleeting glances Oliver affixes to his eyes and mouth. He’s being weird because he... likes it? At the very least, he hasn’t heard a single no from Oliver. Cooper can’t blame him; He’s a teenage boy too after all. The other boy must have been imagining Gina in his place. If that’s the case, it dawns on him that he should be visualizing someone too but…

Cooper doesn’t feel the need to. He thinks he’s just fine doing whatever it is they’re supposed to be doing with Oliver, not some imaginary version of Adriana or a celebrity crush. The thought unsettles him more than he thought it should. There are certain lines separating fiction from reality; A universe where Oliver, on the off chance, genuinely likes Cooper beyond the platonic realm didn’t strike him as realistic.

He’s tired of dwelling; It’s Oliver Otto, his _best friend_. They’re practicing so his _best bro in the world can impress a girl_ , big deal. “Come on, doesn’t practice make perfect?” Affirmative action, his teacher would be proud. “For fuck’s sake,” he wrenches Oliver’s arm up and guides it to where he thinks the clasps are.

Cooper wishes he knew where the practice part of their arrangement had buggered off to. It’s hard to help a guy out when he’d practically morphed into a human mannequin. Judging from Oliver’s incredibly shaky (and kinda grossly warm, ew) hands and the way he’s managed to accomplish nothing except feel up the back of Cooper’s shoulder blade, Oliver requires some extra suggestions.

But first, some teasing is in the cards. “Man, can you hear that?”

Oliver quietens, tenser than he should be.

“It’s the sound of Gina snoring after that total snoozefest of seven minutes.”

“Piss off,” Oliver detaches himself from Cooper but he’s laughing now. Cooper’s learned to take small victories as they come so he matches the light atmosphere with a broad smile. “You’re not gonna do anything better than that with Whatsername either.”

“Is that what you think?” Cooper laughs. A darkened corner of his estate comes to mind, Mrs. Bradford’s muted angry murmurs a few rooms away drowned out by the soft noises his neighbor’s daughter is making pressed against him. He can’t picture her face but he can recognize the feeling coursing through him now, a little wild. He dismisses Oliver’s small “well…” with an arrogant follow-up—”Actually, I’m going to show Adriana a better time.”

“Are you?” Cooper falters at the thinly veiled irritation in Oliver’s voice, the stale air prickling his skin harshly. To admit he’s shaken is to give Oliver the upper hand, a result worth investing his time into sidestepping. He instead steps closer and traces a feather-light hand along Oliver’s jaw before cupping his face like he’s done to the girls he was with before.

“Yeah.” He reconsiders himself for a second before tacking on a soft “don’t freak out,” for safety measures. Now that he’s certain he has Oliver’s undivided attention, all wide-eyed and receptive, he continues, leaning in unconsciously as he talks. “For the first three minutes, I’m just gonna kiss her. Take it slow, ya dig? Let her chase me.”

Cooper halts at a (too close too close _too close_ ) close distance from Oliver’s face. He never noticed the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of the other boy’s nose before—in hindsight, he hadn’t ever stuck around in Oliver’s personal space long enough to see. Whatever mini trance Cooper gets engaged in temporarily ceases once he witnesses Oliver's eyes dip down, partially obscured by his eyelashes.

He removes his hand from where it was resting a bit too comfortably thumbing the curve of Oliver’s jawline, clears his throat. Get it together, Bradford. It’s only practice. He can’t remember the road he was previously on though, too unnerved by Oliver’s expectant expression. “A-and then… I’ll get her bra off,” Cooper rushes out, unfastening the bra loosely hanging off Oliver’s skinny frame with a newfound sense of urgency. He rattles something off about buying time while barely hearing himself, distractions seeping in from left and right. All unfortunately of the Oliver variety.

“Planning to…?” Oliver asks breathlessly. Cooper’s mouth dries; What is he _talking_ about? It ought to be illegal for Oliver to wield that pitchy voice against him; It makes it infinitely more difficult for him to remember that Oliver’s just using him for practice.

He’s using Oliver too. Obviously.

“Planning to… play. Um, with her boobs.” Cooper runs a nervous hand through his bangs. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.” Cue a fake cough into the inner part of his elbow. Whatever power trip he’d been on previously kicked him off its platform, leaving him stranded and seeking answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask.

“But you’ve never done anything like that. With, uh, with anyone.”

He hasn’t. The most he’s scored is a mild, PG-13 feel of an ex-girlfriend’s under-developed breast a year ago. Not that that is any of Oliver’s business.

“Yeah? What’s your point?” Cooper watches Oliver curiously, if not amusedly, as he proceeds to trip all over his next few sentences—a stark contrast from the usual calm, calculated demeanor Oliver displayed. What piques his attention is Oliver’s mention of what he’d stated earlier—”practice makes perfect”—and suddenly, the tables are turned back on him.

“I said that.” Cooper replies, dragging a hand up to tousle his locks in contemplation. He recalls that memory about money and wisdom with his father again and concludes Cooper of the past to be wrong; He doesn’t understand the first thing about wisdom, much less having any. He’s a dumb teenager dressed in a bra, blurring lines that shouldn’t have been blurred in the first place all because Oliver’s nervous about kissing his girlfriend in a closet. It’s pathetic really, the way he’s suddenly reading into their situation ~~because what does he want~~. The more important, more fun question, he decides, is how _much_ practice does Oliver want?

Cooper presses their foreheads together, relishing in the unsteady breath that flutters forth from his best friend’s lips. “For practice.”

It takes Oliver a long time to reaffirm that they’re practicing. The second Cooper has the green light, he blazes full speed ahead. Kissing Oliver gives him that same thrill of visiting countries abroad, the same spark ignited within him kissing girls in the past. It probably isn’t a good omen, not in the slightest. And yet, he mentally flips off every negative, blaring road sign he passes as he licks a hesitant line along Oliver’s bottom lip.

Cooper nearly pulls back out of shock when Oliver suddenly surges up against him, kickstarting into motion as he feels Oliver run his hands through his scalp. The action is strangely comforting, if not a tad annoying (it took _time_ for his personal barber to style his hair this perfectly every morning). Their lips slot together easier now, parting when he licks Oliver’s lip again. He briefly contemplates jumping off the deep end and working up the courage to slip Oliver some tongue. He might’ve followed through with it too, had Mr. and Mrs. Otto not just barged through Oliver’s bedroom door.

Once Cooper catches his breath, he can’t resolve whether he’s relieved or disappointed. He wills his pounding heart to steady as he stammers out, “M-Mrs. O! Mr. O! Buenas noch- I mean tardes- Buenos tardes!” Every one of his frayed senses feel as if they’re on red alert as Mr. O corrects his Spanish grammar and Mrs. O cuts across the room to hound Oliver about some sort of cruise.

He musters up his most apologetic look, reserved mainly for his teachers and parents, and aims it to Mr. O in what he hopes is able to accurately convey _‘sorry for making out with your son, please don’t treat me differently because it wasn’t your daughter’._ The corner of Mr. O’s lip subtly rises.

“You mean buenas, Cooper,” says Mr. O gently.

Cooper glances over at Oliver only to catch him already staring, eyebrows furrowed in a scowl. He rapidly diverts his attention to his manicured nail beds, pretending to inspect the condition of them. As much as he wishes Mr. and Mrs. O were his parents, they unfortunately aren’t at the end of the day, and he knows when it’s not his battle to fight.

“Just an FYI, don’t think that just because you’re a gay couple means you’re exempt from the bedroom door rule. You are no different than Taylor and Trip. Why didn’t you tell us that you broke up with Gina though, I liked her.” Mrs. O addresses Oliver in a patronizing tone yet Cooper can sense the undercurrent of care in her words. It sets off a strange sort of longing in him; He casts his eyes downward at the mention of Gina’s name, guilt thrumming in his veins. There’s no chance in hell either of them are admitting that Oliver cheated on Gina.

“S-sorry Mrs. O. We weren’t ready is all,” Cooper finally mumbles. He doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor, not until Oliver’s parents finally take their leave and he can hear them chattering good-naturedly down the hallway. Oliver winces; He returns it earnestly. Cooper sincerely hopes he didn’t screw up the rapport he had going with Mrs. O as a result of this incident—no one keeps it real with him like she does. He’d hate to flush his relationships with Oliver’s family down the drain just because he allowed himself to get carried away for a minute or two there.

“We weren’t ready?” asks Oliver at the same time Cooper inquires about the mother-son pamphlet.

“Sorry, panicked,” sighs Cooper heavily. For the first time ever while hanging out with Oliver, he wants to go home. An empty mansion is exactly what he desires, isolated from the stress and uncertainty of after-kissing limbo (with Oliver, of all people in the world). Life isn’t that easy however, even when one’s got as much money as Cooper does.

“... What uh…” A pause. Cooper tries not to look too much like he’s hanging off of Oliver’s every word. “What are we doing? What are we going to do?”

Oliver poses a series of great questions. An excellent one. Cooper hovers near the edge of Oliver’s bed, absent-mindedly snagging his bottom lip between his teeth as he contemplates the plentiful dangerous, half-formed responses that want to come pouring from his mouth. Options, options. Should he kiss Oliver again? Should he up and skedaddle, no questions asked? Oliver would corner him though, he’s relentless like that. He’s never had to agonize so hard over something before. Then again, he’s never kissed a boy before. And he’s never kissed anyone that felt it necessary to stay in his life beyond the superficial veil of his surname.

“Hey,” Cooper says after the awkward moment had long run its course. He snaps his fingers, gesturing to Oliver’s unoccupied bed. “We’re not making this weird. We’re Oliver and Cooper, best buds forever!” When in doubt, always backtrack is another piece of advice from his father Cooper harkens back to. It’s gotten his father this far in life, he reckons if he lives by the same piece of advice, it’ll produce similar results. Unfortunately, all Cooper accomplishes is deepening the frown on Oliver’s face. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say Oliver looks moderately disappointed.

“Buds,” utters Oliver unpleasantly. Awkward moments be damned; Cooper might cry if Oliver maintains this kicked puppy act. He collapses backward and forces Oliver down with him, rearranging them until Cooper has successfully snaked an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and tucked the top of his head into Oliver’s messily cropped hair.

Surprisingly, Oliver cooperates with him and curls into his chest, sparking a hot flush of embarrassment high on Cooper’s cheekbones. He silently thanks his lucky stars that Oliver isn’t able to view him currently. What a disheveled sight he must be with his mussed hair and wrinkled spots on his shirt from where Oliver had gripped the fabric.

“Bet the girls are gonna be super amazed tomorrow,” says Cooper flatly. Here’s the thing; Cooper’s not the brightest tool in the shed. His grades, his parents, his collection of abandoned hobbies and Mrs. Otto can all attest to that. He’s not spectacular with technical knowledge, and he’s been banned from the laboratory at their school two times so far this year for concocting failed experiments. He likes to believe he’s more well-versed with emotional knowledge though, or at bare minimum is a human being capable of interpreting Oliver’s drive behind his actions. Everything he did didn’t come across as the actions of someone who wanted to stop; Oliver seems as disappointed as Cooper feels. “But…”

If it turns out he misread the situation entirely, he establishes a mental note to request Adele sing at his funeral. Just in case.

“But what?” Oliver asks wetly, as if he’s teetering on the verge of tears or something. Cooper’s eyes instantly fly wide open in concern and he springs up, sending Oliver’s carefully propped head careening off of his chest.

“I think, I think that I could,” he starts before remembering Oliver’s weird tone of voice. He’d better check up on that. “Wait, you good?”

“Must be allergies. Continue,” replies Oliver. It’s clipped but any excuse is enough for Cooper’s distracted state of mind. He pays the matter no further mind and focuses on organizing his thoughts—admittedly difficult when he hardly knows what he’s asking for.

“I was only going to say that, and _only_ if you’re cool with it. You’d have to be. But I’m also not forcing you,” says Cooper, talking in circles. He instantly wants to facepalm at the discordant mess he can’t believe escaped from him just now, especially as Oliver furrows his eyebrows at him and demands Cooper to spit it out. Inhale, exhale. “I could use more practice.”

He examines Oliver carefully. Closely. Oliver appears as though he’s doing the same; He watches in slow fascination as a pale pink blooms splotchy across Oliver’s features, can’t help but twitch apprehensively as Oliver smirks.

“I- yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“Yeah?” Cooper repeats as he angles his head to the side, peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah.” And Oliver leans in.


End file.
